Fourteen
by dwellingonephemeraldreams
Summary: Oneshot. You're James, and she's Lily. You're both fourteen, and your story has just begun.


You're fourteen. You're handsome, charming, smart, and part of the most notorious group in school. You're fourteen and already the 6th years are throwing themselves at you, eager to get a good snog from the Chaser that scored enough goals to win Gryffindor the last match, even though the Hufflepuff Seeker caught the snitch. You're fourteen and you're young and you revel in the attention while _she _looks away in disgust. She's fourteen too, but she acts so much older it's easy to forget that. She's pretty and friendly, but with so many other girls around, you never really notice her.

Sometime in December, you decide to go to breakfast earlier than usual. She's sitting there with her legs crossed and her coffee untouched while she reads a book, and hell, there isn't anyone else around to sit with anyway. She glances up briefly when she feels you slide in the seat next to her but doesn't say anything. You cough, she looks up again, and you wish her a good morning. She looks surprised, but returns the greeting. Before she can return to her book, you ask her what it's about. She tells you that it's a Muggle book called Lord of the Rings, and that it's her favourite. You're surprised to find out that she's Muggle-born because she's always around the higher echelons whenever rankings are announced. You ask her what it was like to find out that she was a witch, and she says it was exciting and frightening at the same time.

She's reserved at first, but words flow between the two of you, and soon, you know more about her than any of the girls whose lips you've kissed. Her favourite colour is a deep, deep blue, and that the Sorting Hat considered putting her in Ravenclaw, but settled for Gryffindor instead. She laughs when you tell her about the time your parents caught you trying to make homemade fireworks. You wonder why her laugh sounds so melodic when really, it's just a laugh. She has a dog back home named Daisy. She hates Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans because she hated not knowing what to expect, and that she knows next to nothing about Quidditch. You perk up at the mention of your beloved sport and are about to offer to teach her a few basics, but a hand claps on your shoulder and you realise that students are filling in the Great Hall. The hand belongs to your best mate and he's giving you an odd look. You turn back to her, but she's already gone.

You decide that having breakfast early isn't so bad and do it again the next day. She's there, legs crossed, coffee untouched, reading her book. You sit next to her and ask why she suddenly disappeared yesterday. She says she remembered she had an essay she had to finish. You tell her you don't believe her. She asks why it even matters. You say that you enjoyed talking to her yesterday, and you, brash fourteen year old boy that you are, ask if she'd like to go to Hogsmeade. She gives you an incredulous look and says that she's only known you for the twenty minutes you spoke to her for yesterday. You shrug and say so what? She gives you the look of disgust she gives you all the time whenever she sees you snogging some girl in the corridors. She gets up, but you grab her wrist before she could leave. You ask her what's her problem. She opens her mouth to speak and you expect anger, but all you hear is disappointment. She tells you she actually thought you could be good friends. And then she leaves.

You're fourteen and you've just experienced your first rejection.

You go to class, but you find your eyes keep going back to her. You feel helpless and guilty, but you don't know what you've done wrong. You feel something else as well, but you don't know what it is or why you're feeling it. You don't want to ask your mates because even at only fourteen, you're a _man _and you don't want to ask for help. Classes end and dinner is served, but you still see no glimpse of her. Time passes by and you decide to go to sleep because maybe things will make more sense tomorrow.

You don't fall asleep. You're in bed, staring at the roof of your canopy bed and thinking about what was so good with deep, deep blue when bright red was so much more exciting. You give up on sleep and go down to the common room just to get out of your bed. She's there. She's sitting on the couch and doing what seems to be homework. Guilt floods your entire body. You sit next to her, and you stammer out an apology. You say you were being stupid and of course, you can be good friends. You've never been this tongue-tied. She looks at you, tiredness and disappointment and thoughtfulness all dancing around in her eyes. She says it's all right, that it's her fault for getting her hopes up. She says that she always felt ordinary because you've never spoken to her before, not since first year, anyway. She stands up. She says that because you were actually speaking to her, you might actually want to get to know her and not just want a quick snog. She tells you that you really do look rather attractive in your Quidditch uniform, and leans down to kiss your lips. She pulls back after a second and tells you that she needed that. And then she leaves.

You're fourteen and you're left there on the couch, dumbfounded and amazed.

You're fourteen and you've kissed dozens of girls, but none of them can even compare with the light peck she's just given you.

You're fourteen and you don't know what the heck she meant, but you do know you want- _need _it more than anything.

You're fourteen and you vow to make sure she never feels ordinary again.

You're fourteen and you realise that you can't ever stop asking her out because there's no way you can give up on her.

You're fourteen and you don't know it yet, but you're already in love.

You're James, and she's Lily. You're both fourteen, and your story has just begun.


End file.
